


The First Thanksgiving

by Deifire



Category: Eerie Indiana
Genre: M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deifire/pseuds/Deifire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Teller family celebrates a Thanksgiving with a lot of firsts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Thanksgiving prompt challenge at the Eerie, Indiana community on LJ.

The first Thanksgiving Syndi Teller came home from college was also the first Thanksgiving Edgar Teller decided to take charge of cooking the turkey using Things, Incorporated’s new prototype turkey fryer.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t that particular first that had Simon Holmes worried.

He watched as Dash X reached into his long coat and removed two cans of that type of jellied cranberry sauce that always came out in the shape of the can it was packaged in. Simon was secretly relieved. Marilyn Teller was trying a new recipe for cranberry sauce this year that seemed to involve actual whole cranberries, and he wasn’t it sure it would taste quite the same.

“Thank you, Dash,” said Marilyn, who was busy placing the hand-painted turkey-shaped place card holders around the table, as Dash set the cans on the Tellers’ kitchen counter. Teller family Thanksgiving was a small affair, which up until now had consisted only of five people, but it still brought out Marilyn’s inner party planner, and hence, elaborate table decorations. “You know you didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I know, Mrs. Teller, but you were so kind to invite me to this lovely meal,” said Dash in the voice Simon recognized as the one he only used when he was talking to adults he temporarily needed to impress. “I wanted to make a contribution.”

“Well, with your parents being out of town, how could we not?” said Marilyn. “Nobody should be alone on Thanksgiving.”

Oh good, thought Simon. The fiction of Dash having parents, based on assumptions made by elder Tellers that no one who knew any better had bothered to contradict, was still holding up. Even what Dash had told them about his parents not being in town was _technically_ true, since there was nobody currently filling that role in Eerie this week.

“Besides,” Marilyn continued. “We always have plenty of food to share.”

“Mom, maybe you shouldn’t make promises like that until after Dad’s finished with the turkey,” said Syndi. She was sitting at the kitchen table reading the World O’ Stuff’s “Black Thursday” deals flyer. It was Mr. Radford’s latest capitalist venture, and Simon was willing to bet, his latest failed one. Nobody went shopping for Christmas gifts _on_ Thanksgiving Day.

“Yeah,” said Marshall, walking into the kitchen. He paused briefly to stare at Dash, muttered, “Oh, you’re here,” then reached over him to help himself to the contents of the bag of marshmallows sitting on the counter. “We’re still finding debris from the pecan pie incident of Thanksgiving ’92,” he continued around a mouthful of white fluff.

“Yes…well, I’m sure it will be fine,” said Marilyn, not quite keeping the worry out of her voice. “And those are for the sweet potatoes.”

“Which is why you always keep an extra bag in the cupboard, for when me and Simon eat all of these. Right, Mom?” He tossed the bag to Simon. Simon glanced at Marilyn who just sighed and nodded.

“Thanks, Mrs. Teller,” said Simon, as he helped himself to a handful.

“Aren’t you going to say hello to your guest, Marshall?” Marilyn asked, indicating Dash.

“Simon’s not a guest, Mom. Simon’s family.”

Simon suddenly realized it was possible to smile and wince at the exact same time, but Dash just smirked. 

“Hello, Marshall,” Dash said, in a tone that sounded nothing but sincere and polite, and deliberately manufactured to drive Marshall insane. “It’s so nice of you to have me.” Simon didn’t know if was that or the use of Marshall’s full first name that was mostly responsible for the face Marshall was now making.

“Marshall?” Marilyn’s voice held a warning note.

“Hello, Dash," said Marshall, in the same tone Dash had just used. "It’s so…interesting that you’ve decided to join us.”

“Thank you. So do I get a marshmallow or what?”

“Nope. Marshmallows are only for the guests I like,” said Marshall.

Simon just sighed, and handed Dash the bag. They were being worse than usual today.

“One might think you don’t actually want me here, Teller,” Dash observed.

Marshall nodded. “One might. Let’s consider the evidence. Item: My mom was the one who actually invited you. Item: When you asked me what I thought about said invitation, I said that one day of pigging out and watching football and the Macy’s parade without having to worry about you getting me in trouble sounded like a dream vacation...”

“Marshall!” Marilyn Teller interrupted.

At that, Marshall threw up his hands and mouthed, “See?” while Dash just smiled. Marshall studied the cans Dash had left on the counter. “At least you managed to shoplift the good cranberry sauce,” he noted.

“Okay Marshall,” said Marilyn. “That’s enough. Why don’t you go get the sodas out of the garage? Dash, would like to help me with…?”

“No, c’mon,” said Marshall, grabbing Dash’s sleeve. “As long as you’re here in my house, you go where I go. I need to keep an eye on you.”

“Now I’m beginning to think you don’t trust me,” Dash said, as he allowed himself to be pulled away.

“I trust you. About exactly as far as I can throw you,” said Marshall. 

“Oh, and exactly how far do you think that is, Teller?” Their voices faded as they headed toward the garage. 

“Simon, do you want to help me with…?” Marilyn began.

“The mashed potatoes? I’m on it!” said Simon, already reaching for the box of potato flakes. The potatoes were always his favorite part of Thanksgiving dinner.

“And I’m on vegetable chopping duty,” said Syndi getting up from the kitchen table. Simon took a moment to be silently grateful to her for saving them all from any potential scenes that might have happened had Marilyn made the mistake of assigning Dash any chore involving a knife.

Just then, Edgar Teller walked into the kitchen. He was wearing oven mitts, a flame resistant apron, and a welding mask. “Well, I think we’re just about ready for the turkey,” he said, moving to take it from where it had been sitting on the counter. “Where’s Marshall? He wanted to help me with this.”

“He’s running an errand for me,” said Marilyn. “Inside. Far, far away from the turkey fryer.”

“Honey, don’t worry,” said Edgar. “It’s all going to be fine.”

Syndi sneezed. It sounded suspiciously like the words “pecan pie.”

“It will be fine,” Edgar repeated. “And in just about an hour, you’ll be sitting down to the most delicious turkey dinner you’ve ever eaten in your life.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Marilyn, sounding suspiciously less than sure. She leaned over, kissed him on the cheek, and then moved to return to setting the table, as Edgar took the turkey out the door. “You’ve got the fire extinguisher, right?” she called as he left.

“And the backup!” Edgar called behind him.

Marilyn sighed and returned to the table. She picked up Marshall’s place card, which she’d put next to Dash’s, considered it, made a move like she was going to move it to the other side of Simon’s, then to the other side of Syndi’s, and finally put it down. She did the same with Dash’s card.

“Simon,” she said at last, quietly. “Are Marshall and Dash fighting?”

“Um,” Simon began. How did he answer that one? 

That, yes, they were probably fighting right now? 

That their entire association could be characterized as one long fight with occasional breaks for hanging out and fighting the forces of weirdness together? 

That maybe things had gotten a little more tense in the past few weeks, but that was likely just because Marshall was in a bad mood after breaking up with Janet Donner and Dash couldn’t help but antagonize it? 

That it maybe was probably better to let whatever was happening today run its course, because there was a good chance Dash wouldn’t have come to dinner if he’d thought Marshall wanted him here, and the thing was there was an equally good chance Marshall knew that, and it was just one big ball of complicated that Simon was reluctant to unravel? That Simon was just happy Dash was here at all because he'd been in that situation once or twice and didn’t want Dash spending Thanksgiving all alone, either?

He was suddenly aware that he had been saying “um” for a very long time.

“See, Mom, this is why I wouldn’t let you invite _my_ boyfriend for Thanksgiving,” said Syndi. “No offense, but throw in family and the holidays when the relationship is new and everything just gets weird…”

There was a sudden crash and a hissing noise from behind them that sounded exactly like an entire case of soda hitting the floor at once.

Simon turned around to find that Dash had entered the kitchen followed by Marshall, and the latter had, yes, managed to drop the entire case of sodas that were now spewing their contents out all over the Teller kitchen. 

Marshall stood, frozen, cheeks flushing crimson.

Dash looked briefly panicked, eyes darting to all the exits until he realized every single one of them was blocked by a member of the Teller family and/or by fizzing soda cans. He finally gave up and buried his face in his hands. 

“Oh my god,” said Syndi. “I’m sorry! Marshall, I am so, _so_ sorry! I didn’t realize...I thought everyone knew! I mean, you guys were being so obvious with the flirting in front of Mom and everything. It’s not a big deal and no one cares, but I know I would have been upset if somebody had just blurted it out like that back when I was dating…um, I should really just stop talking now and find a hole to crawl in and die, shouldn’t I?”

“Oh,” said Marilyn. And then, “Oh.” And then a third noise that might have been another “Oh,” but also might have been, “Aww!”

Marshall, who had yet to move, just made a noise that sounded like a strangled kitten before sinking to the ground. He muttered something that sounded like, “Item: Selectively over-perceptive big sisters are a constant source of embarrassment.”

Syndi was now trying to apologize to Dash, who had yet to look up.

Boyfriend? Simon thought. That wasn’t a word Simon had ever associated with Marshall and Dash’s not-exactly-friendship, but judging from the reaction Syndi had just elicited, it was either exactly the correct word, or close enough.

Suddenly, the way whole lot of conversations between Dash and Mars over the past few weeks had ended abruptly as soon as he walked into the room made sense. So did the way they suddenly moved apart from each other every time. He thought he’d been doing the good deed of interrupting fights before they got started, but maybe he’d been interrupting…something else?

He was definitely going to have to ask Syndi to teach him what flirting looked like.

He knew he should probably say something. Something reassuring. Something that would be a good thing to say to your best friend when you found out that he was now apparently boyfriends with your other friend who was also sometimes the person he referred to as his sworn enemy for life. 

And something that would also be a good thing to say to your other friend, to let him know that whatever this was, it was okay with you, even if you didn’t exactly understand it yet. And that he should definitely not try to do something that he was otherwise likely to do, like run out and never come back again.

Something that people would put in a greeting card, if they made cards for this sort of thing.

All that came out was, “Oh.”

There was the sound of an explosion from outside.

Simon had never been so relieved to hear an explosion.

Especially when it was followed a few skipped heartbeats later by Edgar shouting, “Everything’s fine! Nothing to worry about!”

And then, “Has anybody seen the emergency backup fire extinguisher?”

The Teller family sprang into action.

Hours later, when they finally put out the fire, retrieved what was left of the turkey and turkey fryer from the neighbors’ trees, and managed to track down Dash who had tried to sneak away in all the chaos, the family finally settled down to a dinner of side dishes, desserts, and tuna fish sandwiches.

Years later, when Syndi’s kids were old enough to ask, and the adults were drunk enough to tell them, they decided this was actually not the first Thanksgiving on the list of worst Teller family holidays as ranked by either sheer awkwardness or level of property damage. But it made the top five in both cases.


End file.
